


How Important You Are To Me

by WordsofForgiveness



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Just JohnYong Soft Hours Really, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 07:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16279880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsofForgiveness/pseuds/WordsofForgiveness
Summary: Taeyong notices it during EnNaNa.He feels like a failure, as both a leader and a boyfriend, for not having noticed it sooner.*** Second chapter addedJohnny, somewhat ironically, also notices it during EnNaNa.And he's committed, utterly devoted, to doing whatever he can to take care of it.





	1. How Important You've Always Been

Taeyong only notices it during EnNaNa.

Johnny is, in a word, sociable. He’s loud - which Taeyong means only in the best of ways, in how his boyfriend is able to make even the most anxious of guests comfortable and at ease, directing the conversation seemingly effortlessly and filling up those lulls in discussion which always seem so much more prominent over the radio. It’s an admirable and truly integral quality as a radio host, and Taeyong has lost track of the number of times he himself has been salvaged during an awkward interview, or when the tiredness and weariness have crept so far into his brain as to make responding to questions and leading the group far more challenging than it should be. In those moments, Johnny is invariably, really, a pillar of strength, the leader behind the leader, always ready with a quip or joke to lighten the mood, or prepared to intervene to offer Taeyong a few more blessed seconds to think.

That invariability of his charisma is, Taeyong thinks, the very reason that it's so strikingly evident when it starts to crumble.

He’d tuned in with the other members of 127, as they often do these days when they eat too late after a practice that stretched too long. It’s a constant feature of their schedule now, what with the pressures to ensure Jungwoo’s integration into the group is as seamless as possible amid the stress of debuting an English song on American television. The urge to do well, do great, do brilliantly weighs heavily on all of them, even if they try to pretend otherwise, and the anxiety thrums beneath their skin so persistently it’s almost audible.

Taeyong doesn’t know whether to be surprised that it’s Doyoung that notices it first. If it were any other member in question, Taeyong mightn’t be, because if he’s the leader of NCT 127 then Doyoung is unquestionably its mother, his love and care for the members deeper and vaster than likely anyone knows. But when it’s Johnny in question, the unease settles low in Taeyong’s stomach, because as the older’s boyfriend and leader, surely he should’ve noticed it first.

But he only noticed it during EnNaNa, so the guilt swells in Taeyong’s throat at the thought that he’s failed in two of the roles he cherishes the most.

He’s about to chide Mark for nearly stabbing Jaehyun in the face with his chopstick in the midst of a very enraptured story-telling session, when his eyes fall upon Doyoung. He’s stopped eating, chopsticks dangling uselessly in his hand as his eyes stare, unfocused, at the laptop on the counter as it streams EnNaNa. Normally Taeyong would just let him be, because he’s had those days too, where the tiredness and sheer weariness hangs so solidly on his bones, on the fringes of his mind, that concentrating on anything is nearly impossible. But he spots the furrow between Doyoung’s brows and the downturn of the corners of his mouth, and his own opens before he even has time to reconsider.

“Doyoungie?”

He sees Doyoung startle, sees the flush creep up his neck as he clears his throat in what seems to be embarrassment for having allowed his attention to drift from the conversation. “Sorry, hyung. Was just listening.”

“Ah, I’m sure Jaehyunie will be happy to know he left you so…enraptured,” Yuta teases, waggling his brows as he shovels more noodles past his smirk.

Doyoung levels one of his patent glares at Yuta, even as the blush reaches his ears. “It wasn’t Jaehyun I was listening to.”

Doyoung meets Taeyong’s eyes then, and the concern in them is visible. His mouth opens again, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know if it’s his place, if he should. So Taeyong nods at him to continue. “It’s Johnny-hyung. Don’t you think he sounds…off?”

The table quiets then, and Taeyong immediately feels Mark stiffen next to him at the thought of something being wrong with their American hyung. “He’s just tired, I’m sure,” Taeyong says, adding, “We all are.”

“He’s been really quiet lately,” says a soft voice to his left, and Taeyong turns to look at Taeil. Their oldest hyung brushes a hand through his hair. He still complains of not being accustomed to the brightness of it, and it's clear from how he huffs as the red waves tumble into his eyes again. “Out of all of us, I imagine he’s the most nervous for this comeback. Since it is in America.”

“But he was so excited when we first learned of going to America,” Doyoung adds, and the deepening of the worry in his eyes sends anxiety and a creeping sense of foreboding shooting up the back of Taeyong’s neck. “Listen to him now.”

So they do. And Taeyong notices it during EnNaNa.

He notices that Jaehyun is carrying the conversation. He’s never silent, of course. As a co-host, he can’t be. But Doyoung’s right, and the dynamic is decidedly different. It is off. Because minutes pass until they hear Johnny speak at all, and when he does, the tone of his voice is just...wrong. It isn’t bright, or cheery, or comforting, like it usually is. It sounds forced, and Johnny never sounds forced. He laughs, and warning signs fire off in Taeyong’s mind, because it sounds fake. Taeyong can feel the discomfort through the audio, feel how Jaehyun is struggling to keep the show going despite his partner’s silence.

Taeyong’s eyes flicker, then, across the table, noting Winwin’s helpless expression, Jungwoo’s doe eyes, and the frown settling across Mark’s face as he abandons his chopsticks in his bowl, seeming to have lost his appetite. He feels Taeil’s foot as it nudges against his own, offering comfort through the contact, and the change in atmosphere that comes with Yuta’s worried sigh. So he steels himself, straightens his back, and nods at Doyoung. “I’ll take care of it.”

 

* * * * *

 

Johnny doesn’t return for another hour, which gives Taeyong ample time to think. He chews on his thumb as he does so, back leaning against the armrest of the couch as his legs stretch across the cushions, pondering that, yes, Johnny has indeed been more quiet lately. It’s natural, of course, with a comeback approaching to draw into oneself slightly, to retreat into one’s thoughts of lyrics and dances and promotions. But he thinks, as Doyoung had, of Johnny’s pure joy at the news they’d be going to America, at the way his face had lit up and those beautiful eyes had warmed so much and how he had nearly suffocated and crushed a giggling Taeyong in a massive hug, chest moving with delighted whoops and laughter.

Where did that Johnny go, and why didn’t Taeyong notice until now?

The sound of the front door opening startles him from his revere, and he quickly tucks his hands between his knees and turns to greet the newcomers. They’re silent as they enter, which shouldn’t surprise Taeyong after hearing tonight’s broadcast, yet it still does, because it's so divergent from how they usually enter, cheeks flushed with the lingering excitement and chattering about the night’s guest and hilarity. He watches quietly as Jaehyun and Johnny deposit their jackets on the hooks, as Jaehyun toes off his shoes and Johnny sits on the front bench to do the same. He catches Jaehyun’s eye as the younger walks past, face pale from tiredness and shoulder’s drooping as he mouths “Night, hyung” and proceeds to his room with a little wave.

Taeyong’s gaze flickers back to Johnny, and if he wasn’t concerned before, he certainly would be now. Because Johnny is still sitting there, perched on that little bench, head buried in his hands and just looking….defeated.

Taeyong swears he feels a crack spiderwebbing its way across his heart, so he musters the softest voice he can, and calls, “Youngho?”

Johnny’s hands drop then, and there’s a moment in which his eyes meet Taeyong’s, in which the younger can see the darkness lingering beneath his eyes, the shadows hovering over his face, before Johnny curtains them with a small smile. “Hey, Tae,” he says, and no, the tiredness in his voice was definitely not a figment of his imagination, or some byproduct of its transmission over the radio. “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Was waiting for you.”

There’s just a flicker of hesitancy across Johnny’s face, so brief Taeyong almost thinks he imagined it. But then Johnny’s nodding, saying “Just give me one second, alright?” 

Taeyong assents with a nod, watches his boyfriend remove his shoes with sluggish movements. The older ambles over to him then, slow in his steps and feet falling heavier on the floor than they usually do, until he curls a cold hand around Taeyong’s neck and lowers his lips to brush against the top of his head. “Can this wait until tomorrow? I’m beat, babe.”

“I’ll be quick,” Taeyong assures him, fingers clasping Johnny’s wrist and pulling him down to sit beside him on the couch. He moves his hands to his boyfriend’s face then, fingertips panning over the dark crescents under his eyes, over the angle of his chin, sweeping aside the locks of brown hair that fall across his forehead, thumbs brushing over the plush lips before he replaces them with a brief kiss. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Really?” Johnny asks, closing his eyes as Taeyong’s fingers move to brush atop their lids, hoping to ease the dark shadows and dullness he’d seen there, tainting the warm brown. The smallest of smiles tilts his lips. “Feels like you want to do more than just talk.”

“Oh hush,” Taeyong chides with a smile of own. A bubble of hope blooms in his chest, even as he runs a finger over each cheekbone. “These are sharper than I remember them being.”

Johnny creaks one eye open then, and his hands fall onto Taeyong’s leg where it’s curled between them. “Uh…thanks? I guess?”

Taeyong removes his hands then, moving them instead to grasp Johnny’s. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

He sees the confusion dance across his boyfriend’s features, unsettling the shadows for only a moment before they descend across his face again, as dark as the night of Seoul. “About…my cheekbones?”

“No, idiot,” Taeyong huffs out atop a small laugh. “About all of it.”

Johnny’s furrowing his brow then, eyes narrowing as he removes one of his hands from Taeyong’s to scratch at the back of his neck. “Sounds deep. You sure this can’t wait until morning? I'm just...tired.”

“I know. We noticed. Or heard, I guess. On EnNaNa.”

There’s frustration, then, in the sigh that escapes from Johnny’s lips, in the setting of his jaw. “Look, Tae, I know. I already heard from the managers. And I’m sorry, okay? It was just…one of those nights.”

Taeyong opts, with no insignificant effort, to ignore the frustration and annoyance that erupts in his belly at the thought of the managers chastising Johnny on what was evidently already not a good day. “I thought that too, at first. But then Taeil-hyung mentioned you’ve been quiet lately, and it got me thinking.”

“Is that what you guys do when I’m gone? Just sit and talk about me?”

Taeyong’s taken aback for a moment at the sharp edge of his voice, at the severity of his gaze, so unlike Johnny with his usual gentleness and hard-to-rile temper. In his shock he almost misses Johnny’s sigh as he moves to stand, but then his hand is darting out to grab onto his shoulder and push him back down. “You’re not going anywhere. Not after you talk like that.”

The fight draining out of Johnny is sudden enough to give Taeyong whiplash, and, somehow, is more worrisome than his outburst. “I’m sorry,” Johnny murmurs, grabbing Taeyong’s hand to plant a kiss on the back. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just tired.”

“You’re not just tired. So talk to me. Please.”

As quick witted as Johnny is normally, Taeyong knows that he needs time to elucidate deeper issues and thoughts, to find the right words to express things lingering beneath the surface. So he waits, waits as Johnny clearly struggles with his words, waits with his thumb rubbing soothing circles on his boyfriend’s knee. “I just…I was talking to my mom today,” he starts, and the shakiness of his breath makes Taeyong’s thicken in his chest. “You know how she always wishes me luck before promotions. So she was asking about the album, asking about the songs, and I just…it just struck me how little I was involved in them. And I guess I should be used to by now, right?” He adds with a laugh so oozing with self-deprecation that Taeyong wants to find their managers, find anyone who’s ever made this beautiful man feel anything less than everything, and yell and scream. “It’s the same thing, the same thing every time, but I thought it’d be different this time, you know?” And now Johnny’s squeezing his eyes shut, bringing his hands to his face to stifle the tears with the palms of his hands, and Taeyong can only wonder in amazement how Johnny has been withstanding this frustration, this anger, this utter disappointment, without barely a crack showing, when Taeyong already feels like he’s crumbling beneath it. “Because there’s a song in English, and I speak English, I’m good at English, yet I still get next to nothing.” He pauses again, drawing in a shaky breath, and when he continues his voice is deeper, raspier, croaking around the unshed tears. “I didn’t want everything. I’ve never wanted everything. I’m happy to help the members with pronunciation, and before you even think about apologizing, I’m so, so proud of you for doing as well as you did, as you always do. I just…I don’t know. If nine years of training can only get me a couple lines in an entire album, what….what am I doing here, Tae? Why am I wasting my time? Wasting everyone’s time?”

And Taeyong can’t stand it anymore, can’t do nothing, so he pulls Johnny’s head to his chest, locks his arms around his boyfriend and just holds on tight, to weather the storm. It’s awkward at first, a bit uncomfortable given Johnny being a fair size bigger than him and normally in the role of comforter rather than comfortee, but within seconds he feels the elder crumpling in his arms.

He doesn’t sob. There’s no gut-wrenching wails. Just a wetness Taeyong feels spreading across the thin material of his shirt just above his sternum, and the fisting of the fabric over his stomach.

Somehow, the silence of it makes it worse.

“You’re not wasting everyone’s time,” he says softly, and Johnny’s little shake of a scoff has him tightening his arms around him further. “You’re not. You’re so important to us.”

Johnny’s dry, humourless laugh wrenches through Taeyong’s stomach like a knife. “Yeah. Clearly, when I get about four lines throughout the whole album.”

“I’m not talking about the album. You’re so, so much more to us than those four lines.” He drops a kiss on the crown of brown hair, starts rubbing his hands over the broad back. “For instance, I could never keep these 16 kids in line without your help.”

Though wet, Johnny’s chuckle seems genuine, seems sincere, and makes Taeyong smile.

“We’d all be lost without you, really. You make Taeil more comfortable. Encourage him to come out of his shell. He’s so shy, you know, but you make him open up. And you’re the best hyung imaginable to your dongsaengs….your love and support mean the world to them.” Taeyong pauses for a moment, considering. “Do you want me to call Ten over here so he can tell you how much you helped him adjust to Korea and then proceed to beat your ass for ever doubting yourself?”

Johnny laughs then, sitting back just enough to lean his head against the back of the couch, meeting Taeyong’s eyes with his own, rimmed with red. Taeyong raises a hand to brush at the wetness staining his cheeks. “No,” Johnny responds quietly, but in there’s more peace in his smile than there was before. “No, I definitely don’t.”

“I couldn’t have adjusted without you either, you know,” he whispers, and Johnny leans into Taeyong’s touch. “From the very beginning, you’ve been….so important to me.” It all flashes through Taeyong’s mind, like a film reel on high speed. He sees Johnny pulling him into his arms as his head swam with all the netizen criticism and comments when his scandal first broke, rocking his sobbing frame and assuring him in hushed whispers that everything would be okay. He sees Johnny forcing him to take a break, to come and eat, when writer’s block nagged at the edges of his mind, and sees him making the rounds of the dorm in the morning, waking everyone from their slumber for their early morning schedules with a warm grin and easy joke. He sees Johnny carrying the Dreamies to bed after they passed out during impromptu movie nights at their norm, sees him conversing with Winwin, never rushing him as the Chinese boy struggled with his words, just encouraging him with that gentle smile and warm eyes. Sees him doting on Mark and Haechan, offering as much help as he could, worrying as much as Taeyong over how many responsibilities the kids had, at so young an age, and always ensuring he was available whenever, for whatever, they needed. Sees him talking with Yuta about their respective homes, about the difficulties of being so distant from their families and immersed in a culture so disparate from their own. Sees him prying open Taeil’s shell, eliciting laughs from their quiet hyung, and engaging in verbal sparring matches with Doyoung until everyone was doubled over, gasping with laughter. Sees him reminiscing about America with Jaehyun, filling them all with such an immeasurable pride at their radio show success, and sees him being a steady, comforting, reassuring force to Jungwoo as he struggled with the demands of debuting in a previously established group.

“Johnny-hyung?” A quiet voice murmurs, drawing Taeyong from his thoughts. “You’re home?”

Haechan hovers at the doorway, clutching the blanket wrapped around himself, in one of those rare occasions in which he actually looks like the teenage boy he is. Doyoung stands behind him, hand on his shoulder as he gazes at Johnny and Taeyong with unreadable eyes.

Johnny takes a breath, discreetly wipes at his face before turning to Haechan with that wide smile of his. “Yeah, kid. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Their maknae pads over then, leaving Doyoung leaning against the wall, his socked feet quiet even in the silence of the night. “Stayed up to listen to you on EnNaNa.”

“Which made him worried,” Doyoung adds, as he stuffs his hands in the front of his hoodie, “because, and I quote, “Johnny-hyung’s so quiet he sounds like Taeil-hyung.” Which obviously is a travesty.”

Johnny’s smile frays at the edges again, and Taeyong knows, because he knows his boyfriend, that he’s upset with himself for making the others worry. “I’m sorry, Hyuckie,” Johnny murmurs, raising his arm to ruffle their maknae’s hair. “I’m sorry for making you worry. But I’m okay, alright? Just tired. Nothing a good sleep won’t fix.”

Haechan narrows his eyes, scrutinizing Johnny for a moment until he nods, apparently satisfied with what he finds on his hyung’s face. “Okay. Night, hyungs.”

The three older boys watch as the maknae pads back down the hall. They’re silent for a moment, just watching, until Johnny half-sighs, half-laughs. “He went into our room, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung affirms with a gummy grin. He stands there for a moment more, until he too, approaches. He comes to a halt just in front of them, head tilted as he appraises Johnny, and Taeyong feels only slightly ashamed to admit that he finally sees why Ten always teasingly compares Doyoung to a bunny. “You good, hyung? Need us to beat anyone up for you? I’m sure Yuta-hyung would be more than willing to demonstrate his manliness on your behalf. Even if it’s more to impress Winwin than to avenge you.”

And just like that, the smile shines on Johnny’s face like the sun following days of rain. “I appreciate you offering up Yuta’s manliness, but yeah. I’m good.” He pauses for a second, and the smile dims a bit, becomes softer and more genuine. “Thanks, Doyoungie.”

There’s a warmness, then, in Doyoung’s eyes as he latches onto Johnny’s wrist, yanks him up and into a brief embrace that leaves Taeyong’s heart feeling like it's on the verge of bursting. Doyoung claps Johnny on the shoulder then, bidding them both goodnight and retreating a few steps before he turns around again. “Oh, hyung? You may or may not have to confront an intervention tomorrow morning. Just a warning.”

Johnny’s eyes widen, looking something like a deer in the headlights, before his face settles into something more akin to sheepishness and he offers a nervous laugh. “Noted.”

Then Doyoung’s gone, too, and it’s just Johnny and Taeyong again. The former turns, offers a hand to Taeyong to pull him to his feet as well. He ducks down for a kiss, then just to rest his forehead against Taeyong’s. Taeyong revels in the moment, mourns for all those they could have had were their lives not so hectic with their comeback imminent, yearns for those they’ll be able to have in the coming weeks, months, and, hopefully, years. “I love you,” Johnny whispers. “And thank you.”

Taeyong takes the opportunity, happily, to plant his own kiss on the corner of Johnny’s mouth. “I love you, too. And any time.”

With a regretful sigh, he draws back, winds his fingers through Johnny’s. “I’m always here to remind you how important you are. How important you’ve always been. From when we were trainees, to when I debuted, to now, to…everything in between. You’re so important to me, Johnny Seo.” He stares at Johnny until the older nods, looking uncharacteristically shy. “Now come on,” Taeyong adds, tugging his boyfriend down the hall. “We have a maknae to take care of.”


	2. What I Say, What I Don't Say, and What Says Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny, somewhat ironically, also notices it during EnNaNa.
> 
> And he's committed, utterly devoted, to doing whatever he can to take care of it.

Johnny, somewhat ironically, also notices it during EnNaNa.

Taeyong is, in a word, stable. He’s consistent, and unfailing, and reliable, and dependable, and everything a good leader needs to be. Johnny knows, as all members of NCT know, regardless of their subunit, that Taeyong is always there, always willing to help resolve the slightest of issues and ease the most minute of concerns. Because he never trivializes, never chastises or laughs off doubts, and for that, Johnny is sure, they’re all immeasurably grateful.

And it’s that consistency, Johnny thinks, that makes the odd crack in the armour become glaringly obvious.

The nine eldest members of 127 are gathered in the radio broadcast room, save for Haechan, who should be sleeping but who Johnny is certain will instead be tuning in from his bed and the hastily-constructed fort of pillows and blankets that’s sure to adorn it. The excitement dances in Johnny’s chest at finally, after so long, being able to have his members on the show, because these nights, with his brothers (and boyfriend) are always his most favourite, most treasured. He’s certain he looks like an idiot to viewers of the radio stream, with this huge grin he can’t quite seem to keep from splitting across his face, but he honestly can’t find it within himself to care. He’s just…happy.

Taeyong sits beside him, hood of his red sweatshirt pulled up over his ashen hair and hands curled in its sleeves in what Johnny is confident is the most adorably and charmingly precious variation of sweater paws to have graced the earth. Even Mark, beside Taeyong and looking cozy in his turtleneck and lined jean jacket, has nothing on his leader, as the older munches on the little sugary snacks he somehow managed to sneak in the broadcast room, occasionally poking Johnny’s leg to slide one discreetly under the table.

They’re all tired. It’s a given, after debuting and performing in America, after the stress of interviews conducted in a language vastly divergent from that to which the majority of them are accustomed, after performing - damn brilliantly, Johnny thinks with a preen - twice already that day on Music Bank. They’re all still recovering from the jet lag that hangs on their frames like wet clothes, making everything more exhausting, more wearisome, just generally more cumbersome.

It’s all going smoothly - as smoothly as can be expected, really, given the aforementioned exhaustion that lingers in the paleness of their faces and tightness of their eyes. They all laugh, because it’s truly impossible not to laugh surrounded by these boys, and everything’s fine until the members are asked to identify the song from the album they connect to the most. 

“City 127,” Taeyong replies, in that soft voice of his. He tries to explain it then, explain that it’s the first track and contains a lot of shifts and turns, explain that he worked on composing it for some four years. “The song was very….” he pauses then, and the first crack splinters across the facade. Taeyong slips, stumbles over his words, like the gears in his mind are fumbling for purchase and instead just keep spinning, spinning, spinning. “Why can’t I think of the word…”

Panic flickers in his eyes in the briefest of staccatos when they meet his boyfriend’s, so Johnny, partly in his radio host duties but mostly in fulfillment of his ever-present desire to be Taeyong’s knight in shining armour, swoops in. “I think you’re just slightly tired,” the elder says, and Taeyong nods with a soft laugh, manages to eek out the rest of his explanation, and the show goes on.

Things resume their normality, but Johnny keeps as close an eye on his boyfriend as he can without becoming entirely indiscrete. He doesn’t want the members to worry, doesn’t want the viewers to worry either, so he notes with fleeting glances the purpling of Taeyong's under-eyes, the way said eyes sometimes lose focus until they snap to alertness, how his fingers fiddle restlessly with the microphone cord, and how his lips pinch together as if he’s disappointed in himself for not being more engaged.

So Johnny, unable to do much more, keeps watching, nudges his boyfriend’s ankle with his foot in order to get his attention and shoot him a warm, commiserating smile that he’s sure will incite a few comments from the fans. He shares a glance with Jaehyun, and it's fortunate that they’ve honed their nonverbal communication to such a finely tuned craft and the younger is able to decipher the meaning of what Johnny can’t say. So together, they, as much as possible, attempt to direct the questions and the dialogues towards the other members.

It isn’t hard, necessarily. Jungwoo looks far too energetic, far too eager, than he should given the hectic chaos of the past days, but he seems so genuinely delighted to finally be here, to finally be at EnNaNa, that it’s nothing short of downright endearing. Taeil seems to be feeding off his energy, Yuta is….being Yuta, with the moody expression that seems to be slipping across his face more than Johnny remembers it doing before, and which he’s already promised Taeyong to help address when a free minute opens up. Doyoung is, as always, a steady presence, his innate talent as an MC shining even through his fatigue and refusing to succumb to the interruptions of the yawns he tries to hide in his sleeve. Winwin is being awfully cuddly with Mark, which makes little fireworks of happiness burst in Johnny’s chest because while they’re adorable individually, together they exude enough cuteness to have the disabling force of a minor shockwave. And Taeyong’s trying his best, as he does with everything, still commenting and smiling and laughing.

But it becomes noticeable, again, when Taeyong tries his hand at devising an acrostic poem for Regular, and only makes it past the first line before he’s faltering, descending into a quiet “guuuu” before another handful of apologies tumble past his lips.

Then the show’s ending, they’re taking their pictures together, Johnny’s trying not to begrudge Mark for slipping beneath his and Taeyong’s arms to stand between them in the photo, and they’re filing out the door to return to the dorm.

Taeyong leaves a bit ahead of him, so Johnny has to jog to catch up to him as they trudge towards the cars. It’s one of those moments when Johnny loves being tall, because it enables him to quickly fall into stride beside his boyfriend, curling an arm around his shoulders. Taeyong spares him a glance, the slightest yet warmest of glances, and they walk together, in silence, to the cars.

Taeil makes it there before them, silently asking Johnny with a tilt of his head whether he wants shotgun, because Johnny will take every opportunity available to complain about how the length of his legs necessitates him sitting in the front passenger seat. But Johnny’s shaking his head, offering a tiny “Go ahead, hyung,” before he’s resting a hand on the small of Taeyong’s back, keeping it there, solid and steady, as the younger half-steps, half-stumbles into the van, and Johnny crawls in after him.

He takes the seat immediately beside Taeyong, even though the fact that the nine of them came in two cars means there’s empty seats and no need, technically, to be that close. But he takes the seat anyway, so he can reach across his boyfriend to buckle his seatbelt, and fasten his own before he’s snaking an arm behind Taeyong’s neck and gently easing his boyfriend’s head down to rest on his shoulder.

It’s a little disconcerting, Johnny thinks, how quickly Taeyong crumples against him. It kind of reminds him of one of those inflatable dancing men he remembers seeing in America advertising the businesses they wiggle in front of, when the power to their motor is cut off and they just collapse, suddenly devoid of air and all support. Taeyong’s the same, shuddering slightly as the tensions and demands and burdens of the past days seep out of him, as he nuzzles his forehead into the juncture of Johnny’s shoulder and fists his hands atop the older's leg.

Johnny can’t help it when the corner of his lips tilt up, just ever so slightly. He’s man enough, romantic enough, and wears his heart on his sleeve enough, to admit he enjoys these moments the most, these moments when Taeyong forsakes his leader-front for his softer-front, when he allows himself to transition from being depended on to depending upon. So Johnny rests his cheek against the hooded head, covers Taeyong’s hand with his own, and traces idle patterns on its side.

He’s not sure whether he falls asleep, or just drifts into some kind of trance, listening to Jungwoo’s excited chatter and Doyoung’s responding laughter in the back. But suddenly the door’s opening and Taeil’s looking at him, at them, with heavy yet fond eyes. So Johnny unbuckles both their seatbelts, and, upon noticing the head on his shoulder is too weighty and unresponsive to be awake, gets Doyoung to support his boyfriend’s form while Johnny eases out of the car to take him in his arms.

He cradles Taeyong to his chest, securing one arm above his waist while the other snakes under his knees, murmuring a thanks to Jungwoo as the younger runs ahead to open the door of the dorm for them. As much as he loves carrying Taeyong to the door, loves being able to do something for the younger who always does so much for everyone else, he can’t help the nagging thought at the edge of his mind that his boyfriend is lighter, his ribs more prominent, his knees more bony, than they should be.

It takes a minute for him to toe off his shoes at the door, trying, as he does, to not jostle the boy still dozing in his arms, head tilted against Johnny’s shoulder and breath coming in the faintest of puffs against the older’s neck. Doyoung’s hand at his back steadies him, and Taeil’s nudging aside Johnny’s shoes with his foot to clear the path, reaching up to squeeze the back of Johnny’s neck before they’re all trudging towards their respective rooms with the quietest and gentlest of “Goodnights.”

Johnny spies a sliver of light from Haechan’s room as he passes, figures the youngest fell asleep again while listening to EnNaNa. But he keeps going, pausing and turning when he reaches the door of their room to ease it open with his shoulder.

He doesn’t turn the light on, doesn’t need to. The moonlight seeping through their window, unfiltered by any curtain because Taeyong prefers to awaken to the beaming of the sun, casts across the room and produces sufficient silhouettes for Johnny to make it, safely, to Taeyong’s bed. He even manages to avoid tripping on his whale plushie, Blue, as he admittedly is sometimes prone to doing when he forgets to retrieve it from the floor to which it invariably migrates during the night.

He lays his boyfriend down as gently as he can. Taeyong’s head rolls slightly, a little groan escaping his lips, as it hits the pillows, as Johnny’s arms unwind themselves and move to remove Taeyong’s shoes. He contemplates leaving Taeyong dressed, because he still appears to be soundly asleep and Johnny would hate to awaken him. Sleep has been too precious a commodity for their dear leader these past days. He experienced it firsthand, that night after the Apple Music concert when Jaehyun had knocked on the door of the hotel room Johnny had been sharing with Winwin, offered to switch rooms because Taeyong was buckling under the pain in his back, leg, and heart after all those times his feet had slipped on that wet stage. Thinking about it again sends warm fury seeping up Johnny’s neck, flushing to his ears, no less potent than it had been that night, when Johnny had simply tucked Taeyong’s face into his neck and sang him into a fitful and uneasy sleep. He’d been unable to sleep himself, then, due to the fear of accidentally jostling Taeyong and causing his pain to flare up.

But as much as Johnny would hate to disturb him, he also knows from all those times he passed out on his bed, fully clothed yet too tired to do anything about it, that jeans are a pain to sleep in, so he peels them off his boyfriend as smoothly and non-disturbingly as he can. Then he’s pressing his lips to Taeyong’s forehead, and drawing the blankets to his chin, before he slips out of the room and down the hall.

As expected, Haechan’s asleep. It's incredible, how innocent and young he looks in rest, so distinctly different than the mischievousness personified that is their maknae awake. His laptop sits, open, on the floor beside the bed, screen reverted to its white screensaver following the conclusion of the broadcast. Johnny’s a bit surprised at their maknae’s ability to sleep with such bright a light beside him, with the screen tilted back as it is to provide for optimal viewing from the nest of blankets and plushies that is Haechan’s bed. Jaehyun will stumble in eventually, Johnny knows - he heard the rest of the members enter, rifling through the kitchen cabinets for a snack before turning in - but until then, he settles for easing the laptop closed and setting it on the desk before pulling the maknae’s blankets to his chin and running a hand over his hair.

Taeyong’s awake when he returns, albeit barely, eyes blearily blinking at him as Johnny closes the door to their room, slips out of his pants and forgoes his sweatshirt for an oversized t-shirt. Johnny bites back a laugh at the grabby-hands Taeyong’s making for him, and instead settles for easing into bed beside him.

It’s a tight squeeze, on a bed decidedly not made for two, but they make it work. They always do. Because the minute Johnny’s back hits the mattress, Taeyong’s throwing a leg over his, winding an arm over his stomach and scooting closer, closer, closer until he’s half draped over Johnny’s chest. Johnny can feel Taeyong’s heart, feel the beats as they slow, and slow more, to sync with Johnny’s own in what the latter will always characterize as one of the most beautiful harmonies he's ever heard. Pure and utter contentedness spurts in Johnny like a geyser, and he fumbles for the blankets before wrapping both arms around Taeyong to just….hold on.

“Gotta get up early,” Taeyong mumbles into his collarbone, voice raspy from dozing, sleep lingering on the edges and deepening its tone. His forehead settles against Johnny’s neck, hand tracing its way from Johnny’s bicep, fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake as they trail along his shoulder, up his neck, to wind and twist in the dark shocks of Johnny’s hair. There’s a moan at the base of Johnny’s throat, and a heat swirling low in his stomach, because it’s been too long. It’s always too long but this time it's especially the case, when hours upon hours of practice leave little energy for anything more than just collapsing into bed. But he suppresses it, pushes it down. As much as he wants Taeyong, as much as he always wants Taeyong, he also wants the younger to get as much rest as he can.

“Yeah,” Johnny agrees, because every morning for the foreseeable future is going to be an early one. “Go to sleep, Tae. I’ll take care of things.”

He feels his boyfriend’s chest rumble with discontent. “No,” Taeyong argues, half-heartedly and on the tail-end of a yawn. “Just wake me up, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” Johnny concedes, running his own hand down Taeyong’s spine. After I’ve woken up the other members, he doesn’t say. After I’ve coaxed Doyoung into cooking breakfast, something hearty enough to help put a bit more weight on your frame, he doesn’t say. Not until it’s 15 minutes until we need to leave because even though you’ll hate me, you need the sleep, he doesn’t say.

“I love you,” is what he says instead. And though he’s fairly certain Taeyong has fallen back asleep, his boyfriend’s contented little hum and the way he nuzzles his cheek against Johnny’s chest says enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I hadn't intended to add to this, but then 127 appeared on NCT Night Night and I couldn't help myself. I hope you enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks so much for reading my very first fanfic. I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a comment with any suggestions for improvement or criticisms you may have, or if you'd just like to rant about how beautiful NCT and JohnYong is. 
> 
> All the best <3


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